


The Bedroom at Park Avenue

by secretsofluftnarp (luftie)



Series: Boudoir Stories [3]
Category: The Thrilling Adventure Hour
Genre: ...and then they go home together, Dating Doyles, F/M, Frank Has A Lot of Feelings, love is good and love is kind; love is drunk all the time, sexually explicit romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 03:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftie/pseuds/secretsofluftnarp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of Kiss Me Deadly, the Dating Doyles go home together for the first time. Frank adjusts to the possibility of a new life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bedroom at Park Avenue

He could swear that she tasted like juniper with a hint of florals.

Before he met Sadie, Frank's world was a collection of cheap whiskey bottles on a nearly bare wooden floor, swigs of sharp brown liquor that bit back, which he took before charging into musty rooms full of things that were threatening to bite back too. Frank vaguely remembered that before Sadie, he had been very angry about something, as if the fiery taste going down his gullet fueled him, barreling forward, into the dust-filled darkness, ready to tear something apart. Now, sprawled on some luxurious sheets in Sadie's bed as morning sunlight began to creep through the window, Frank could not, for the life of him, remember what he had been so worked up about.

Sadie had nothing to do with that darkness (though she told him she liked whiskey; she said it tasted a little bit dangerous, like him).  Sadie herself had a voice and demeanor and even a smell that was cool and clear and springlike: the absolute opposite of all his boarded-up gloom. She reminded him of sharp green things, and bubbles of what at first glance looked like water -- here he held up an empty martini glass and looked through it with one bleary eye -- but only to those who didn't know any better. Sadie Parker, straight gin, no nonsense, exceptionally strong.

Sadie lay in an opposite direction (it was a very large bed), peacefully asleep on her back, her breaths escaping in contented little sighs. Frank realized he wasn't quite sure how long they'd been there, or the last time either of had worn clothes, and he also realized he didn't care. Time and clothes were for people outside this bedroom, and they were most definitely inside of it. Sadie looked like a nude painting of a classical goddess, with her hair fanned out beneath her. Frank could have spent all day just looking at her, if days were even still a thing.

Frank let his eyes drift down Sadie's body -- and even looking at her still felt like a decadent thing -- letting his gaze roll over her hips and down, to the soft folds south of the clitoris, falling a glint of natural wetness on an outer lip. Like a pearl off an oyster, he thought, aware that that wasn't exactly how oysters worked, and also that he didn't really care about the veracity of his simile. Frank leaned over and swept it up with his tongue, and Sadie giggled and stirred slightly, keeping her eyes closed.

The taste was definitely her, and definitely gin.

 

Frank and Sadie had left the mansion party abruptly, past half-dressed party guests who half-moaned, _no, stay, join us_. “Perhaps some other time!” he and Sadie had called, amiably, while throwing on their top hat and furs, respectively, knowing full well that was (probably) not the case. The car trip back to Sadie's Manhattan apartment should have been long and winding, but time passed mercifully quickly, punctuated largely by Sadie's delight at whatever parts of the landscape she could make out in the darkness, whatever parts of Frank's face seemed to appeal to her at that moment, and whatever there was to drink. Frank raised a toast to it all, indiscriminately.

Frank had kept glancing out into the darkness, daring any creature, living or dead, to interrupt their trip. Between Sadie and himself, he was sure they could put off any interlopers with the sternest of talking-tos; he only hoped that wouldn't spoil the mood. Luckily, somehow, everything else out there was minding their own business.

She'd led him across the threshold (how long was that elevator ride?) and he was more than happy to follow. She started mixing drinks, and then Frank began mixing drinks to return the favor, and this would have ended up with too many drinks except that they agreed there was _no such thing_ , and clinked a toast in mutual recognition of this verifiable _fact_.

Over the toast, Sadie sat in Frank's lap and kissed him on the nose, and he kissed her on the mouth, and once they paused to down their drinks she put a hand on either side of his face she drew him in closer, finding his tongue with hers; he put his arm around her waist and stood them both up (pause, drink) and kissed her again. She took him by the collar (pause, drink) and pushed him up against a wall, loosening his tie, their bodies pressed together, their shuddering breathing already moderately obscene.

“Come to bed with me.” Sadie's voice was melodic and kind, with a smile creeping in. Her other hand had crept up the front of his trousers. “Darling, you're as stiff as your drink.”

She hadn't meant his demeanor.

“Sadie, I am going to fight off any impulse to be embarrassed and instead be flattered that you noticed.”

“You should be.” Sadie saw Frank's eyes go elsewhere for a moment. “Darling what are you looking for? Your drink's right beside you, and another beside it.”

“Darling, I -- “ Frank glanced at Sadie's lower hand ”I can put a hat on it, you know, I'm not trying to impregnate anyone.”

Sadie laughed, but not unkindly. “Oh, darling, I got that fixed,” she said, making two quick snipping motions on her lower belly. Her ease immediately set him at ease. Later, she would point out that what came out of him was rather translucent and alcoholic-smelling, that she doubted there were too many little swimmers involved, and she suspected those that were would be rather drunk and unwilling to travel. Frank didn’t disagree.

“Now I've seen those nimble fingers, and I am certain they can help me out of this dress,” Sadie cooed.

Frank scooped Sadie up and carried her to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge of the bed while he stood in front (kiss, pull off each other's clothing, pause for drinks, kiss, repeat); she had her hands all over him and he began to tease her with his tongue again, working down her neck, this time pausing for longer kisses before kneeling to hold her hips. He thought he might lose himself in her this way, head resting half-worshipfully between her legs, suddenly very aware of how much faster his heart was beating. He could feel the muscles of her legs tense, and thought she might come right then, but she grabbed him by the hair and brought him back to eye level. Sadie let out a more creative string of swears than Frank had heard from any sailor or Satanist, telling him exactly what to do (her), and wrapped her legs and surprisingly strong, sinewy arms around him. Frank obliged, barely knowing whether he was pushing or being pulled, fucking or being fucked, but he was positive that this was what vibrant, sweaty love felt like, and absolutely nothing else mattered.

She held him tight as she came, and the grip of her orgasm brought his along for the ride; his was like a soft exhale. He curled up next to her on the bed without leaving her arms.

Frank slept soundly that night, for the first time in years. He forgot to keep one eye open at night, for things that might be lurking in the dark. Curled up next to her, there weren't any.

 

-

The following days were a blur; they stayed in her apartment and drank like he had never drunk before, which was saying something, barely getting out of bed except when Sadie got almost-dressed to go to the door for delivery. She had booze delivered to the house, Frank thought, marveling at the brilliance and ease of it. Sometimes he would black out and wake up nose-to-clitoris, with no complaints.

In bed, she told him things he would have found outrageous if it hadn't been for her ease and charm. She told him she had suspected that clothes made the man, but she'd been pleasantly surprised that his cock looked rather dandyish all on its own. She told him he ate pussy exceptionally well for somebody who didn't have one. She told him he was lucky he wasn't a cad or a novice, as she'd had enough of either, but he was clearly neither.

Frank raised yet another martini glass. "To exceeding expectations," he toasted, and clinked.

But sometimes -- usually when Sadie left the room, or when he wasn't holding her or being held or holding her hand or pouring a drink or making her smile -- Frank would feel a twinge of unease, reminding him that women like her -- wealthy, flawless -- often cast aside men like him -- creative, broke -- once the man in question had worn out his capacity for amusement. But then Sadie would come back in the room, or smile, or touch him, or say virtually anything at all, and those fears would dissipate, like clouds that only formed in her absence.

They went up to the rooftop one clear night, and Frank marveled aloud at how much closer they were to the stars, how much further away they were from whatever lurked on the ground at night. After all, what manner of noxious creature could _possibly_ reach them up here?

“You must miss it,” Sadie said. “Your life of adventure.”

Frank was stunned. “Sadie, I know I cut a dashing figure when we met, but that was a very dark place you saved me from. It’s possible that I owe you my life.”

She touched the side of his face, gently. “There’s quite a bit I don’t know about you, darling, but would ever so like to find out.” She poured another pair of drinks without looking at them, and handed one to Frank. “I think I could take rather good care of you, should you choose to stay here.”

“And we’ve some excellent evidence right here,” Frank joked, clinking his drink. “Sadie, are you asking me to move in?”

“Yes.”

“Indefinitely?”

“Indubitably.”

“Sadie, I would enjoy nothing more. I scarcely feel that I deserve it.”

“Come to bed with me now, and we’ll get your things from your old apartment in the morning.”

“Oooh, the old apartment?” Frank furrowed his brow, thinking of how little he needed or wanted to see anything from his old life. “We don’t need to go there ever.”

“We’ll get your things from your old apartment in the morning,” Sadie said firmly, and led Frank inside.

-

 

When they arrived at his apartment (via chauffeur, naturally), Frank attempted, unsuccessfully, to persuade Sadie to stay in the car. For a second, when he mentioned that any whiskey bottles inside were most certainly empty, she appeared to consider it, but then took a flask from under the seat and followed him inside.

The air inside felt both suffocating and empty. Frank cringed as he eased the door open, hoping that nothing had decided to nest in his room in his absence, but it was just as he’d left it – cot on the floor, empty whiskey bottles beside it, a bare table with only the essentials (pint glass, shot glass, rocks glass, hip flask, brandy snifter), a collection of books, weapons, a small kit of essential grooming supplies, and one more good suit, properly accessorized.

He especially didn’t want Sadie to remark on the cot on the floor, but she didn’t appear to see it, instead heading straight for the weapons supply. “Ooh, is this seventeenth century?” Sadie marveled, picking up a small, straight sword. “I imagine it’d catch a pretty penny at auction.”

“Still a workable defense,” Frank said. “Darling, do be careful, it’s very sharp –“

“I was fencing captain at my prestigious women’s college,” Sadie said, suddenly brandishing it in perfect form. “Though I primarily studied _draema_ –“

“Drama?” Frank asked.

“Yes, _draema_ ,” Sadie repeated. She poked a metal box in the corner, and it sprang open, revealing a small supply of shiny objects.

“Sadie, how – that’s been locked for years,” Frank said incredulously.

“Ooh, religious iconography!” Sadie said, poking through its contents. “Frank, is this a flask?”

“No, it’s holy water, and...I regret this, but I’d like to hang onto that, some beasties really don’t like it.”

“And this,” Sadie said, pulling out a small medal on a chain. “’For the protection of lost souls.’ Frank, was that you?”

Frank knew there were two more medals on that chain: Saint Francis, obedient in prayer, and Saint Catherine of Alexandria, martyr to the church at age eighteen. He wanted nothing more at this moment than to pretend that those relics didn’t exist. “No, I shouldn’t have that. A dead girl gave it to me,” Frank said, by way of not-quite-explanation.

“Oh!” Sadie said. “Is she going to want it back?”

“I don’t think she’s coming back.”

“Shall I keep it just in case?” Sadie inquired.

It was a strange, kind, and somehow perfect gesture, Sadie offering to hold it so he didn’t have to. “Please do.”

“Books about demons!” Sadie exclaimed, noticing the rest of the room.

“Yes, love, just don’t read aloud from the one with the red runes on the cover, we don’t want to summon anything just now –“

“Boyhood adventure novels! And you said you weren’t sentimental.”

“Did I say that?” Frank was fairly sure he hadn’t said that.

“A grammar and elocution book that’s been worn to bits!” Sadie continued to exclaim. “Frank, did you go to preparatory school across the river?”

“No, I’m entirely self-taught.”

“Frank _Doyle_. Sadie Parker is _impressed_.”

“Sadie, I am beside myself at how you could be impressed by any of this.”

“Frank, I understand why you wouldn’t want me to see the apartment, it looks a tad uncomfortable –“

Understatement of the century, Frank thought, but he’d allow it.

“—but it shows me that you aren’t a con artist or a cult leader or anything other than what you said you were. And as you are, with your literate collections and fancy weaponry and that which I’m certain has a story behind it, I rather like you.”

It took Frank a moment to figure out why his heart was melting. He had been so afraid that she was going to leave, and here she was, making it clear that she wasn’t going to. If she could stand right in the middle of his personal dusty clump of despair, and still find things to delight in, then she was going to embrace him. Not just the nice suit or the witty repartee or his fervent attention to cunnilingus, but all of him.

He had to ask anyway. “You’re not disappointed?”

“I’m disappointed in the very empty state of those bottles, which you were kind enough to warn me about beforehand. Let’s get you home, darling.”

 

At home -- Park Avenue was home now, it was both madness to say it and madness not to say it  -- Frank hung his second suit in the walk-in bedroom closet. There would be plenty of space for more, even with all of Sadie's shoes and gowns. He brushed against something long, sequined and green, and stretched a leg out for comparison. He estimated that, correcting for height, he and Sadie were roughly the same dress size.

He put his books on a living room shelf next to Sadie's more presentable novels, books about the theater, auction catalogs, and a thick ledger where someone (an accountant, presumably) had written, on the last page, _I give up, you have nothing to worry about_.

They put his weapons in the very back of what they agreed would become their walk-in liquor cabinet. Frank felt lighter already, setting them aside in a place where they weren't needed. Sadie could sharpen her parry, if she wished, but they wouldn't need to see them day-to-day. They could order enough alcohol to fill the cabinet ten bottles deep, and he could drink until he barely remembered that he had ever needed demon-stabbing devices in the first place, much less where they were. The only issue would be running out of liquor, which, Frank surmised, would take months, possibly years.

Frank felt a sense of elation and freedom that he hadn't felt in years, if ever. He could do anything he wanted! He could pass out on this loveseat. He could have another gimlet. He could go back into the bedroom and get some so-called beauty rest, which, now that he could sleep, he suspected would leave him looking very nice indeed. And then Sadie might start kissing him again for no reason at all! Because it was only him, and her, in this secluded cocoon of luxury, and he felt as if _nothing could ever bother him again_.

That was, until the first knock.  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to dedicated beta [lalalalalawhy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lalalalalawhy) for helping me decide that this is the sort of thing which should be loosed on the world.
> 
> (Thanks for reading!)


End file.
